Tim Snediker

Rumor has it I'm the man on the moon
but I swear to God Awmighty I never
heard her breathe her own name aloud.

Now the time the wind danced in the yard
and left her panties hanging from the eaves,
that was more than a metaphor,

and what's more, I keep secrets with her.
And she silvers my blood--what with the striptease
for four straight weeks, slipping that sundress

on and off and on until gravity kisses me goodbye
and waves bon voyage and I learn the twin virtues of
onamatapoeia and myopia: both of which sound

like the name of a beautiful woman. I round
her humming circumference, cover myself in shade
and slumber with her the silence.